An Adventure On The Atlantique
by SamuelClark1975
Summary: Holmes and Watson are invited on a cross Atlantic ocean liner by non other than Holmes's sister. The assignment, to protect an important political document, the theft of which may threaten the economic future of the United States and could result in war across Europe.


**An Adventure On The Atlantique**

She was a remarkably distinctive woman who had the bold confidence of a man in her forthright and direct way of speaking, yet at the same time her face and her very presence invited the most amiable of constitutions in others, myself included. Her smile was warm and one felt like it could light up the world.

I first made her acquaintance on a dreary Thursday afternoon; business at the surgery had been very slow, it being late in summer, a normally slow time for illness and malady amongst the residents of London. Taking advantage of this spare time I took it upon myself to deal with some paperwork that was in much need of completion. I was seated at my desk engaged in this work when my assistant and clerical secretary, a young man in the early study of medicine knocked upon my door.

"Dr. Watson, there's a woman here to see you, she has no appointment and I told her you were not to be disturbed, but she is quite insistent."

"Let's not stand on too much ceremony, Thomas. It is, after all, within the boundaries of my consulting hours and I should be glad of the break from all this paperwork." Thomas stood for a moment with an awkward and indecisive countenance, green as he was. "Well, do not just stand there, let the woman in."

"Of course sir, well, it's just, it's just..." he trailed off. I glared at him impatiently waiting for the young man to finish his sentence. "It's just she doesn't look very ill, sir. Quite the picture of health, in fact."

"I think I should be the judge of that. If I ever get to consult with this poor waiting woman."

"Right you are, sir," said he, and turned to leave my consulting offices.

"And Thomas," "Please stop calling me sir. Dr. Watson, Doctor or simply John will do."

"Of course sir... I mean Doctor."

Moments later, Thomas showed the woman into my office. She was most striking in her beauty with long auburn hair of deep and shining shades of red, hair of fire and blood. Her skin was a pale, milky white and had no impressions of make up, her face was radiant with a more natural beauty. Her eyes were an absorbing deep brown and in studying the features of her face and the way she held herself I could not help but be reminded of my friend Holmes, a strange thought to be sure, but such was the similarity in her nose and refined cheek bones and the general gauntness of her features; although she carried it with more health and radiance than those of the more subdued and withdrawn Holmes.

"Dr. John Watson?" asked she.

"The very same and what may I help you with on this dreary Thursday afternoon?"

"I'm afraid I have no particular malady or illness for you to diagnose or treat."

"Indeed, you look the picture of health Mademoiselle... ?" asked I, enquiring as to her name, for she had not yet told me, nor had Thomas. At this point I noticed a French accent in her speech and there was a peculiarity to her spoken grammar, which suggested to me that she wasn't a natural English speaker.

"Thank you kindly, Dr. Watson. Now, the reason for my visit is one similar to that of an interview."

"Do you work for a newspaper? Is this to be a profile of my character and the day to day business of a general practitioner?"

"Hardly, although it may involve a certain profiling. I have recently moved to the area, an apartment just by Charing Cross Hospital, Maiden Lane to be exact and I wish to employ the best doctor I can find as my general practitioner. As such I want to see if you're up to the task." she paused momentarily and reached into a small hand-bag, whereupon she plucked out a folded sheet of foolscap paper.

"I assure you Mademoiselle, I have been trained to the highest modern standards."

"I'm sure of it. What school were you trained at?"

"Charing Cross Medical School _._ I then moved on to the self same hospital you mentioned earlier, and was assigned a medical posting in Tunisia. I was there for some months up until the capture of Sfax in July 1881. I suffered shrapnel wounds in my upper left thigh that still hamper me a little to this day. Afterwards I took some R &R in Algeria and onward to southern Spain. And three years ago I resettled in London and, as you can see, established my own medical practice."

"And you acquired your taste for a Mauresque no doubt."

I paused in shock at her knowledge of me. "How on earth..."

"Do not worry, I have seen you in the local area, the Red Lion inn?" I nodded, reservedly. "And your service in the military would lend you a certain patriotism?" she continued.

"I am indeed a proud Englishman. And would defend her with my last," said I. "If you'll excuse me, Mademoiselle. I fail to see what this has to do with you employing me as your Doctor."

"I merely wish to get the measure of your character. I believe there should be a certain amount of familiarity between doctor and patient and thus-wise the doctor is more able to treat the person rather than the disease."

"A very astute philosophy and a good one."

"Then you agree?" I nodded in the affirmative. "Which leads me to my next question, how many patients do you currently have on your books and by that I mean, how many repeat patients, the ones who have found your skills reliable and trustworthy?" I thought upon this question for a moment but could not recollect.

"Let me check," said I, and began searching the desk for my log books. "You'll understand I cater for anyone that cares to walk through my door, so the regularity of patients can be inconsistent. I keep regular consulting hours," said I, organising the papers and books upon my desk. "Sometimes patients never return once they are free of their particular malady. It is only those with consistent illness, the old and infirm or the very young, mothers with newborns and such, that I tend to keep on my books with any regularity. Ah, here we are." said I, having found the log book at last. I opened it and scaled the page making a rough estimate of my regular patients. "Thirteen, at the present time."

"And are these people satisfied with the work you do?"

"I think they would be a better judge of that, but they do return, which I think tells you something."

She asked other questions concerning my bedside manner and if I were open to call outs, if a patient were in dire need. She also asked of my rates. The whole experience I found very odd, it was as if I were interviewing for my own job, or that she was some medical authority that I was accountable too, such was the way she presented herself. Her penultimate question was one concerning diagnosis and prognosis. She unfolded a second sheet of paper and described four hypothetical symptoms, including, coughing up blood, a high fever and chills, weight loss and clubbing of the extremities. I regarded her grimly.

"Mademoiselle, you are describing the symptoms of tuberculosis, more commonly known as consumption."

"And your prognosis?" she asked plainly and firmly.

"I would have you escorted to the nearest consumption sanatorium as is the protocol for such an occurrence. And I would inform anyone and everyone you have come into close contact with, for the disease is highly contagious."

"But what if the symptoms turned out not to be that of consumption and you were presumptuous in your actions; sending me to the sanatorium needlessly and therefore putting myself at greater risk for contracting the disease?"

"You would be entitled to garner a second opinion of course. But from the rather text book list of symptoms you describe I can see no other diagnosis. Reality rarely presents in such a clear form." She smiled thinly and I sensed she was impressed with my quick and forthright answer. Her final question was more in the way of a hypothetical dilemma. She proposed the situation thus-wise.

"It is a Saturday evening and you and your fiancée are in attendance at a cello performance at the Royal Albert Hall." I regarded her pointedly and suspiciously for she was describing, although in the vaguest of terms, a situation I found myself in when engaged in my first meeting of both Mary and Holmes, the adventure of the missing cellist. She continued and I let her. "During the concert you receive a message informing you that I have been taken ill and am in dire need of assistance and a doctor. And I might add, the date is the anniversary of you and Mary's first meeting."

"Mademoiselle, you have the advantage of me. How do you know of these things and the name of my fiancée?" said I, accusingly.

"Monsieur Watson, the story and the situation are well known. For you published the story in the Strand some months ago, and your engagement to Mary Morstan is public knowledge, surely you are aware of your fame?"

I remained silent, fumbling for an answer for I hadn't the slightest idea that anybody would take an interest in the story or mine and Mary's engagement.

"Onto to the dilemma, would you break such an engagement in order to attend to me?"

"Of course, you may be at death's door, balanced against the frivolity of an anniversary it would be a quick decision. I have taken the Hippocratic oath. Primum non nocere. First, do no harm," said I, and my answer was met with a smile.

Following this she took her leave and informed me that she would let me know her decision in good time. I sat perplexed and relieved, for I was somewhat exhausted from the mental ordeal, as one might feel after the pressures and tension of a job interview or police questioning.

"Thomas?" I called out after a time and he dutifully entered.

"Yes, sir?"

"The woman I just consulted with, did she give a name?"

"No, sir."

"Most mysterious." I said aloud, despite myself, and if all logic was to be followed I expected never to see the woman again.

I closed for business and made for the Red Lion, where I was to meet Holmes. I relayed the story of the interview and he listened intently, absorbing every fact and detail, upon finishing he remained silent and lit a cigarette, then he pulled an envelope from his pocket and laid it upon the table next to his glass of beer, (a Belgian Abbey beer) the man had a particular taste for it as I did with my Mauresque.

"It would seem you have made the acquaintance of my sister. Aside from the red hair, your description, the manner and nature of her questioning fits perfectly with her character."

"You have a sister?" I exclaimed. Holmes simply nodded as he opened the envelope and read the telegram contained within. "How did I not know this?"

"Because I didn't tell you, Watson. And you are not to tell anyone else either. Not even Mary. My sister makes great effort to hide her identity from," he paused. "Well, everyone."

"Hence her resistance to her giving me her name. Why?"

"Like my brother Mycroft, she works silently in and across all the major European governments. A protector of the realm, of sorts. If she's sending me telegrams, then there must be something of major political import that she needs my assistance with. But what?" said he, rhetorically. "She is sometimes needlessly cryptic and at her worst, obtuse. What do you make of it?" He handed me the message. It read as such:

 _Sherlock Caesar 17 Holmes_

 _Evvu pfli xzwkj, zdgfikrek Vlifgvre wzeretzrc drkkvi. Tflcu ivjlck ze nri zw lejlttvjjwlc._

 _Burn after reading._

 _Yours_

 _Boyd N.O. Fugazzi_

"It's gibberish."

"Don't be so hasty, Watson, study it for at least a moment, try to find a pattern amongst the chaos, for surely there is one, it being my sister's convoluted design."

"Boyd N.O. Fugazzi. She's Italian?"

"No, French. Same father, different mother. Fugazzi means false."

"And the first name?"

"Boyd N.O. Is an anagram of nobody. The codes bear all the hallmarks of my sister's convoluted wit."

"I'm sorry, I am at a complete loss." said I, after studying the letter a little more. "What is this Caesar 17 business? A nickname?"

"Why it's the key to the whole message."

"It is?"

He took the slip of paper from me and read aloud the encrypted message. "Need your gifts, important European financial matter. Could result in war if unsuccessful." I marvelled at his quick translation.

"How?"

"It is a simple Caesar cipher, I'm surprised you are not familiar with such codes, having served in the military."

"As a medic," said I, both defensively and emphatically. "How does her visit with me pertain to business of national and European import?"

"I expect that she expects I will bring you along with me and her interview was a means to get the measure of you and your character. If anything is to be inferred from the manner of her questioning. I expect we will be hearing from her soon enough with more details."

And not a week later we did indeed hear from her in the form of a letter, again written in the encrypted code of the Caesar cipher.

"It seems you have passed my sister's scrutiny," said Holmes upon finishing the letter. "We are to board the transatlantic ocean liner _La Provence_ , leaving Le Havre, and onward to the new world and America, New York to be more specific." He presented the tickets and I examined them.

"Only two tickets?"

"Yes. Why would there be more?"

"Well, I had hoped I could bring Mary along, I think she would both relish the opportunity to cross the great Atlantic and visit America."

Holmes scoffed by way of reply. "She should think herself lucky not to be burdened by the ordeal."

"Really, how so?"

"The ocean is a vast and empty horror that fills me with dread. Underneath those still waters are all manner of unearthly creatures and those still waters can surely turn against men, engulfing him with only a particularly strong wind. Nature is a beast, a relentless one at that. One grows complacent in the city. Protecting oneself against crime is a relatively easy occupation, it's only once you go out into nature that you realise absolutely everything is out, not to just get you, but kill you, and its reach is beyond just a small population of criminals," he shuddered and his face grew pale. After taking a moment he poured himself a glass of cognac and his nerves eased. "I can only hope that the task my sister has put us to is suitably and intellectually engaging."

I thought in silence for a time, needlessly fingering the two tickets and the letter.

"Is something bothering you, Watson?" asked Holmes.

"How am I to put this to Mary? And my medical practice, what is to be done about that? I cannot leave it indefinitely, especially in the hands of Thomas, while talented in an intellectual capacity concerning medicine, he is a nervous idiot when dealing with the social aspects of patient care. I cannot just disappear for a week or more. What excuses am I to make?"

"Perhaps a medical or surgeons conference of some description. Or perhaps a series of lectures you must attend. Assuming they have them." said he.

"A worthy excuse, although I am uncomfortable lying to Mary."

"Needs must," said Holmes. "My sister is very firm on keeping her political identity a secret."

"Does this sister have a name? In all this time not once have I heard it."

"Elizabeth Hervé."

"Not Holmes?"

"Hervé, by marriage."

Two days later we made the long cross country trip to Plymouth and across the English channel to Le Havre and the port there, a day in advance of the ocean liner's launch. During this trip, Holmes elaborated a little more on his sister and the history of their relationship.

"She is four years my junior, and the product of an extramarital affair, one my late father kept a highly guarded secret from the public. He was talented at obfuscating. Her mother is French and died soon after giving birth to Elizabeth. Possibly as a direct result. Satisfied the affair was over, my own mother allowed Elizabeth to be brought up in our family home. But Elizabeth was not wholeheartedly welcomed well by my own mother, she was unreasonably strict with her, in an almost brutal fashion. I was fairly ignorant of it at the time and we spent a happy childhood together, attempting to outdo each other in games of logic and intellectual capacity, she is far more talented than I in the realms of deduction, induction, abductive reasoning and of deception, she even surpasses my brother Mycroft. Perhaps a product of my mother's harsh treatment of her, she learned to always be on her toes and adhere to her strict rules of conduct and behaviour. And she excelled beyond me. I would hazard a guess that she did so as a result of trying to obtain mother's approval and congratulations, a sort of glass ceiling that can never be reached. So, of course, at sixteen years of age, she relished the opportunity to leave for France and a boarding school in Paris. I saw little of her over the next few years up until the point where both my father and mother died and left us their estate and the wealth that came with it. When I did see her again, she told me she had married a gentleman of political office who was primed to rise to the top, she too had worked her influence whispering in the ears of the most prominent political figures, influencing their decisions, ambassadors, ministers and even presidents and chancellors. She has no real power and they are left to make their own choices, but she nudges them in such a way as to steer them toward certain decisions."

He remained in silent contemplation for the next part of the trip and I engaged myself in reading the Strand and studied the few stories I had published, of course I changed the names of the major players, myself included, and I had some trouble in calculating how Elizabeth had interpreted the stories and characters as to their true names, perhaps she recognised the character of Holmes as her own brother and grew her theory from there. I paused in some worry, as this meant she herself or some confederate of hers had been employed in following myself and Mary in order to determine this truth. I discounted the worry, as she had no ill intent, at least not in the way a character such as Moriarty or Arsene Lupin might have.

"Have you theorised on what this political business may be, and the task Elizabeth might put you too?" I asked suddenly, breaking the silence of the long carriage ride.

"A little, but nothing concrete."

"Care to elaborate?" I asked further, wanting to rid the worrisome theories from my mind.

"Obviously it concerns the European relationship with the United States, possibly financial, it may even be a request of assistance in some forthcoming war."

"War?" I said, both shocked and surprised. "What war? You predict war?"

"Nothing of the sort, ease yourself man. I merely theorise."

We arrived in Le Havre soon after, whereupon we took much needed rest and sustenance in one of its finer hotels, one that Elizabeth had booked for us, using her considerable wealth. The hotel was resplendent and I found myself quite outside of my depth in such luxurious surroundings, it was almost as if I were some vagabond who had stolen his way amongst the upper classes. Holmes on the other hand took little interest in the grandeur. He did however keep his keen and observant eye on the surroundings and the people within the hotel walls and rooms. Over dinner, he gave, what seemed to me, a full account of the maitre'd and his life story, just by observing his manner, his clothing and his way of speaking. Holmes concluded that he was a native of Marseilles, from his distinct accent and had observed that he conducted the southern and Marseilles forms of formal greeting, four kisses, two upon each cheek. He also observed that the man had family connections to Germany.

"How on earth can you conclude such a thing?"

"There was a slight but noticeable German lilt in his accent and the way he pronounced his r's was not from the back of the throat, but rather the nose, and I enquired as to the man's surname, Essen, distinctly Germanic." he said, arching his eyebrow with a wry and triumphant smile. "I also note he has a keen interest in art, for I saw that between attending to the hotel guests the man's eye would often wonder toward the grand paintings that adorn the walls of this hotel. Perhaps he painted them himself, perhaps he desires to, the paintings are in a particularly modern style. I also noted that he is quite new to the job." He paused and I regarded him silently and expectantly. "It was a small thing and he hid his mistakes and fumbling well, but there were minute pauses of thought in between his actions in dealing with the young couple ahead of us in the queue. Tell tale signs that he is not at complete familiarity with the minutiae of his job. He hesitated in locating the room keys, he reached for the wrong ledger when he asked the young couple to sign in." As usual, I was startled by his process of making the most simple observations and adding them together to make his conclusions; observations that were, by and large, obvious to anyone if they cared to look. He often said that others are so wrapped up inside their own heads with their own worries and concerns that they fail to notice these simple details. As such I made a personal note to try and observe them myself and make my own conclusions, if the need arose. I thought perhaps it would be vital, or at the very least, helpful in my own art of diagnosing patients.

After dinner I retired to bed, parting company with Holmes into our individual rooms. Before bed, I wrote a brief telegram to Mary informing her of my day's travel to Le Havre, adding the fact that Holmes had accompanied myself, for I felt she might attempt to visit with him during my period of absence and thus the actual reasons of our journey may be revealed. I comforted myself in the lie by mentally promising that I would explain the real reason at a later date when the information became less sensitive or even irrelevant.

In the morning I set about the business of packing my suitcases and organising my possessions for the voyage and then I joined Holmes for breakfast, but before doing so I stopped at the check in desk to both send the telegram I had written the previous night and to enquire about the German fellow in order to ascertain if Holmes's conclusions were correct. Alas, I discovered he hadn't shown up for work as he was meant to and all attempts to contact him had failed.

"Perhaps he is merely running late," said the hotel manager. "But it is most unusual and inconsistent behaviour. In all the time he has been working here he has been quite punctual and very efficient in his work."

"And how long has he worked here?" asked I, wishing to confirm at least one of the conclusions Holmes had presented the previous evening.

"Not long, four weeks I think."

"And how did he come to be employed here?" The manager regarded me with suspicion in a long pause that followed my unusual question. "Do you perhaps know where he hails from, any details about the man's background?" the manager again furrowed his brow at my specific line of questioning and gave me a look of disapproval that made me shrink with embarrassment, as I had no authority or any good reason to be asking such questions. I thought I might present myself as a police investigator on the man's trail, but thought better of it, not wishing to be caught in a lie halfway through.

"No matter, mere curiosity." said I, and I quickly took my leave and joined Holmes for breakfast.

Upon doing so I found him seated at a table by the window that allowed a good view of the port below, for the hotel was located upon a hill. Holmes was sitting in quiet contemplation, smoking a pipe, but not only this, there seemed to be a nervous anxiety about him, for he kept flicking his look from the interior of the dinner hall to the view outside- where the leviathan like ocean liners sat anchored upon the water, the crowds in the port were growing in numeracy and the activity much hurried and frenzied. I put his anxiety down to his fear of crowds, and this showed even further when I examined his face, it was pale and his eyes hollow with fear. Added to this he stroked his knee and continually kept adjusting the tie about his neck.

"Is something the matter?" I asked as we awaited breakfast. Holmes blinked and regarded me as if startled by the question. "You seem unusually anxious." I said further when he didn't respond. Holmes glanced woefully toward the window and took a deep breath. "Your fear of crowds?" He nodded.

"And I do not relish the journey. The seas. They are a vast expanse of nothingness. It is even worse than the countryside." He let out a long breath and gathered himself.

"You shall be fine. Remember the technique we formulated? Merely focus on a specific point until you have reached your goal." He nodded timidly and unsure. "Once we are aboard you will acclimatise yourself to the surroundings. And it is a short trip. Six days at most. I hear that this particular ship has almost won the blue riband for its speed. Three times, no less."

"Almost." said he, with contempt.

Holmes remained silent over breakfast and continually glanced from his food to look out of the window, his nervous anxiety persisted.

"Perhaps we could get a hansom down to the ship, or maybe hire a couple of bicycles."

"Holmes, it's a ten minute walk, at most."

"Ten minutes too long I feel." replied he, wiping trickles of sweat from his brow.

"My God!" I exclaimed suddenly realising and I might add deducing what was at the heart of his exaggerated fear. "Is she here, have you seen her?"

He was quiet for several moments, glaring at me pointedly and with considerable consideration. I sensed he may try to sidestep the subject and saw the gears of his mind evaluating the decision. He calmed, braced himself and spoke.

"No, but she does hail from Le Harve, so there is more than an outside chance that we may cross paths."

The _she_ we spoke of was Holmes's only venture into the realms of love and female companionship. Mary had told me of this after her adventure with Holmes in Gévaudan. I further pressed him for the story in the Red Lion and he gave the account of this affair. It involved a young woman by the name Audrey. He dubbed her, 'the love of his life' the affair was short, lasting a matter of months, if not merely weeks. They embarked upon a passionate affair full of intensity even though only three times did they spend any significant time together, the rest was by way of letters and telegrams. When Holmes made a firm approach, she spurned his bold advance and cut off all contact with little explanation as to why. Possibly the distance between Le Harve and London, possibly she did not feel the same intensity of feeling, perhaps she found another man. Holmes was left heart broken his pleas ignored and his mind left in conflict between affection and aggressive anger toward her, "not the most gentlemanly of behaviour, but the unrequited are oft left confused and in tumult." were his words. After a period, he resolved the issue by vowing to fully commit himself to the rational and logical, ideally suited to his chosen and self invented profession as a consulting detective.

"Damn my aloof sister, why she insists on subterfuge and secrecy in the matter of hiring me, I do not know. I expect I could've solved the case by now, if I were privy to all the details. Why we might not even have left the comfort of London. Instead, we find ourselves dragged and lead by a dangling carrot all the way here and perhaps the edge of the world. It vexes me. Even if the case fundamentally required our being here, at least I could engage my mind in rational thought instead of..." he trailed off. "An inactive mind is a terrible thing, full of horrors and loose ends and affords one no closure of any kind. It runs in circles. Data, information, I need information." he exclaimed in an ever rising and exasperated tone.

"Settle down." I urged him. "We will soon be aboard the ship. Your sister will afford us the details of the case and you can set your mind to the task." He sipped at his cold coffee most disheartened and looked out of the window once more where the shipyard was growing with activity. "Merely apply the technique we have used in the past, walk straight and true, focusing your attention upon my back and your anxiety will be over."

"Yes, yes." said he, in a dismissive tone.

A gentle mist swirled over the shipyard and the sun shone hazy through it, there was a notable chill in the air, and the early signs of autumn. The first fallen leaves bristled in the wind as we walked, Holmes in step behind me and carrying our luggage. He thought the strain might occupy his mind, from the tumult of activity in the shipyard, street vendors taking advantage of the crowds and all manner of people of all classes and backgrounds. Upon reaching the first class boarding gate we stood waiting for our credentials and our tickets to be checked, I was greatly anticipating to meet Holmes's sister once again and discover the political intrigue behind our invitation on the voyage and to America.

"Perfectly easy," said I to Holmes as we waited, and was met with an aloof grunt of resistant agreement as he flicked his look back toward the shipyard and the crowds. "Surely your anxiety has eased, we are here and nothing of ill fortune happened." Holmes did not answer for several moments and he searched the crowds, his gaze fixed on a particular area, notably a café not far off. "Whatever is the matter? Did you see her?" I asked, but received no reply as we were ushered through the boarding gate and onto the ship.

Our rooms, or should I say cabin, were the height of luxury and comfort and extremely spacious. The instant we entered and set our luggage down, Holmes poured himself a cognac. "To settle my jangled nerves." said he, and handed me a note, which had been placed under the bottle of cognac.

 _A gift. I hope your journey to Le Harve was a pleasant one. Meet us for dinner in the dining hall at eight p.m. this evening._

 _E. Herve_

"And damn my sister, delaying us further." He slumped down in an armchair and swilled back the cognac, as he did so I peered at him with inquisitive eyes and wondered as to why he was still disturbed. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Why for the whole morning you've been in turmoil, it hasn't escaped my notice. What is the matter? We are on the ship, ready to go and in a few hours you will discover the reason for your sister's call. Look at your hands and your general being, you are positively shaking." I paused.

"Go on... I would like to hear your final conclusion. Your deduction." he said in contempt of me, and I held back on contesting his brisk words.

"Well psychoanalysis is something of an experimental science and certainly in its early formation, but I have read a lot of medical journals pertaining to it.

"And?" he said, most impatiently.

"I would suggest despite your earlier anxiety and unusual fear over breakfast, you actually wanted to see Audrey and happen upon her. Having not seen her, you are now in a positive state of frustration and woe, resulting in these fits of curt behaviour and disrespect for your peers and friends, you are positively rattled with forlorn frustration and it grips your mood and your being. In other words you, the ever logical Sherlock Holmes are still hopelessly in love."

"You put too finer point on it, Watson, despite your reliance on the science of psychoanalysis."

"I'm surprised you give it so much scorn, are you not yourself attempting to promote a new science, that of deduction?"

"Pah, comparing my work to those hacks is your failing."

"One must keep an open mind." said I, lightly, trying to keep an upbeat tone to the conversation.

"One might as well apply scientific theory to the existence of faeries, in the noble pursuit of 'keeping an open mind'." said he, continuing in his dismissive tone. He poured himself another glass of cognac.

"I think I might take a walk and explore the ship. And return when your mood has lightened."

"Do as you wish." And on that rather sour note, I left him to his own devices, with the hope that his mood would cool off.

During my walk along the decks of the ship, drinking in the atmosphere of being aboard such a grand vessel and the majestic feat of engineering that it was, I encountered something most markedly odd and incongruous. I stepped out from the cover of the walkway into the bracing sea air with the intention of looking out at the vast expanse of sea that lay before the ship. As I walked I happened to glance up and saw upon one of the upper decks, a man in a black cape and hat, and it appeared that he was watching my every step and movement like some watchful Raven upon a castle turret. Initially I shrugged it off as paranoid musings and walked on, settling at the port bow where I enjoyed a cigarette. I must have dwelt there for longer than I thought, for when I turned to head back to the cabin I came face to face with the man in the black cape, his face was hidden from full view even in the bright noon sunlight and he had positioned himself in such a manner that my view was obscured by the sun behind him, he had also turned up his collar and the rim of his hat was tipped in a downward fashion.

"Good morrow," said I, in pleasant greeting, shielding my eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. "Is something the matter? Can I help you in some fashion?" I asked when he didn't return my initial greeting.

"Doctor John Watson, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Why yes. And you are?"

"An avid reader. I found the story of the master thief very entertaining and considerably noteworthy in the fact that you resisted the temptation to change the ending."

"Change the ending, why on earth would I do such a thing?"

"Well, in my experience there are certain parties that would have writers stray away from the truth of a matter in order for the hero or heroes in this case to win the day and appear falsely noble and great. You proved quite the surprise in letting the master thief of the story get away without consequence."

"Oh, well, after all it is merely a story. I thank you kindly for your compliments, sir." said I, nervously, for the man was presenting himself in very sinister terms. And I have to say I was quite uncomfortable with my seeming fame and the recognition garnered by the stories I had published, it didn't sit well with me, especially if I was to be followed and approached by complete strangers. "If you'll excuse me, I have to be getting back to my cabin," said I and I made haste to leave. I brushed past him and quickened my pace, passing the crew members making final adjustments before the ship's launch and as I glanced back, I caught sight of the man's face in the more favourable light, to my surprise I saw that it was the porter from our hotel, the man Essen.

When I returned to the cabin I found Holmes gently dozing in an armchair. He roused from his slumber after a time and I told him of the encounter I had on the port bow.

"Most singular." said he. "I too saw the self same man amongst the crowds as we made our way from the hotel to the ship.

"You did? Why did you not say anything?"

"I didn't think it was of any great importance, but his reference to your story is very pertinent."

"How?" said I. Holmes did not respond and merely shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest idea." he replied wryly. "Could it be the man has merely quit his job at the hotel and is seeking better opportunities in the United States. I noted when I saw him that he was dressed in a finer manner than would afford a man on the income of a mere hotel porter."

"Well, it's altogether incongruous, it vexes me, and it's rude, following me about the place, accosting me."

"Hardly. The man merely wished to compliment you."

"Yes, well he should do it in writing."

"Watson, that's even more intrusive, in order to write to you, he would need to know your home address." I shuddered at the thought and poured myself in a glass of cognac. Holmes roused himself from his previous slumber splashing his face with a little water, while I sat myself down in the armchair. Holmes then turned to me with harsh stare.

"Is there a problem?"

"Yes, Watson there is. Your presumption to pour yourself a glass of my cognac! Did you drink any?"

I shrank in my seat with embarrassment.

"Well? Answer me, did you drink any?"

"No, not yet. Why are you so angry?" He strode across the cabin and snatched the glass from my hand. I was both shocked and surprised, his actions were uncharacteristic and perhaps I was at fault. I had assumed that our friendship was one of relaxed familiarity. "This is a gift from my sister and the bottle is exclusively mine. You are not to take a drink from it, as and when you please. Is that understood." I nodded, feeling like a school boy who had disappointed his parent. An uncomfortable silence hung in our cabin for several minutes.

"What say you to going out again and exploring the ship?" said he, after a time, and to my relief, because the silent tension in the air was becoming unbearable.

"Perhaps we might stumble upon Herr Essen, and see if we can't establish a few more facts about the man. And to fill the time before meeting with my sister."

"And to engage your brain in a problem no doubt. To distract yourself from your anxious melancholy stupor and thoughts of..."

Holmes raised a stern finger, cutting me off in mid sentence. "You have the measure of me, Watson. Now let's be off." He tidied himself up and threw on his jacket and hat, once done he charged out of the cabin with renewed purpose and will. And being the ever indulgent friend I followed.

Our escapade proved all for naught and we did not see nor hear the man Essen. We did however, cover almost every inch of the ship aside from the private cabins and the engine rooms and such like.

"One can only assume he has retired to his cabin." said Holmes. "Perhaps we might knock on each door to find him?" he suggested.

"Now there, I draw the line. What pretence do we have to go knocking on cabin doors?"

"Passenger checks. Yes. We do under the pretence of checking if everyone is boarded and safe."

"Really, Holmes? It's almost six, just two hours before dinner and our curiosity will be satisfied. And I want to wash and dress, I assume it is a formal affair."

"You assume correctly." We rounded a corner and Holmes stopped dead in his tracks.

"Now that is odd."

"What?" He pointed to a particular cabin door where a man in full military uniform was stood to attention outside.

"He appears to be guarding that particular room."

"If there were prizes for pointing out the obvious then you would win, Dupin." said he. He bounded forward and approached the guard with his indomitable and inquisitive spirit.

"Excuse me, Monseigneur why are you guarding this room? Whose room is it?" he asked without ceremony.

"These are the rooms of the German Ambassador and his wife." Holmes flinched in a quizzical pause.

"The German ambassador? Herr Theodor Von Holleben?" The guard nodded stiffly in response. "Is there always a guard posted to his cabin when travelling to the United States? Is it a common practice?"

"No sir, just for this particular trip." Holmes arched his eyebrow at this and moved along swiftly. I followed after tipping my hat in acknowledgement of the guard.

"Inexplicable and singular." said he, as we made our way back to our cabin. "This voyage gets more and more curious and we've barely left French shores."

The ship's dining hall was resplendent and much larger than I had expected, with more than fifty tables, it resembled that of one of London's own finer restaurants and as with the hotel I was somewhat intimidated by the lofty surroundings. We were greeted at the door by the maitre'd and escorted to a private V.I.P. section in the corner. The tables were empty, there being two, but only laid out for three people. Holmes huffed and complained again at his sisters late arrival and checked his pocket watch once we were seated.

"A quarter past. Fifteen minutes late. It's unconscionable."

"Patience is one of the holy virtues."

"And a fools superstition. Waiter, a large cognac and when will my sister be gracing us with her presence?"

"She told me to tell you she has been delayed with a serious new matter. And that she will be along soon, no later than nine o'clock." Holmes huffed again and we sat impatiently for an hour.

"Yes, yes, introductions and niceties. Now, to the matter at hand. Why are we aboard this ship? What do you need my assistance with? And why are the cabins of the German, British and French ambassadors to the U.S. Being guarded by military officers?" Holmes asked in a flurry of impatience upon Elizabeth's arrival.

"Due to the recent financial scare and the drop in the price of gold and silver, Grover Cleveland and America itself is on the brink of economic collapse. As such, they have asked the three major European powers for financial assistance, a loan of astronomical proportions. If word were to get out to the general public concerning this loan it may cause political uproar. Grover Cleveland's presidency is on a knife edge and militia groups will pounce at the opportunity to topple the government. The loan takes the form of a document, if this document were to get into the wrong hands... we believe there are plans in place to steal the document, and claim, proof undeniable. As such, we have taken some preventative measures. There are two dummy documents and the real one, each are housed in a safe within the three cabins of the French, German and British ambassadors cabins. A guard is posted at the door of each room for the entirety of the journey. We thought it good practice to bring you along in case the worst happens, you can then use your famous skills of deduction to take back the document and find the culprit," she paused and both myself and Holmes looked to her aghast. "If such a situation were to arise."

"It is almost as if you expect the document to be stolen. If I didn't know you and your honourable good graces dear sister, I might think that you want this loan document to be stolen," said Holmes, he mopped his brow and looked visibly ill, his face pale and more gaunt than usual.

"Quite ridiculous Sherlock, we are merely taking every precaution. No one wants war and civil unrest."

"It can be good for business."

"Are you well, dear brother? You look awful."

"I think the cognac is catching up with me."

"Cognac?"

"Yes, the De Fussigny you left in my quarters."

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but I have no idea what you are talking about."

Holmes paused in confused contemplation, then as I have seen so many times previously, I saw the gears of his mind working. His eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened in realisation.

"Excuse me a moment," said he, as he stood up from his chair and swayed a little.

"Sherlock, is everything well?"

"Where might the bathrooms be?"

His sister pointed them out and Holmes promptly made his way through the hall, picking up his pace as he did, until such time that he was charging like a Spanish bull, bursting through the bathroom doors.

I followed and heard the distinct sound of Holmes retching from within one of the toilet stalls.

"Holmes?" I called out and immediately afterwards, I heard the rush of water echo from within the stall. "Holmes what on earth is going on?" asked I, as he brushed passed me, mopping his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. He approached the sink and proceeded to wash his mouth out, still my question went unanswered.

I guided the increasingly ill and troubled Holmes from the bathrooms into the main dining hall, which I noticed was now filling up with people, all drinking and dining and making merriment. Amongst them in a dark corner, I also happened to notice the man who confronted me on the upper decking some hours earlier. He seemed to me to be watching us like a hawk, his dark clothing and the general manner of the man made me shudder with an icy fear. I resisted confronting him, for I had to attend to Holmes. We approached our V.I.P. table once more, Holmes growing increasingly delirious, he could barely walk in a straight line. A waiter approached Elizabeth with a message on a silver tray. I watched as she unfolded the envelope and read. Her eyes widened and the look upon her face was filled with stunned horror.

"Madame Herve, what's the matter?"

She didn't reply and handed me the envelope in grim silence. It read as such:

 _The reason your brother has fallen suddenly ill is this. I poisoned the cognac, this poison will take its full effect within hours, 24 at most. You must act quickly and decisively. I will exchange the antidote for the loan document. I will wait on the third deck. I look forward to making your acquaintance in short time. Consider this stern warning, if there is any trickery on your part I will destroy the antidote._

 _G. U._

I glanced up from the letter and flashed my look around the dining hall in search of the man dressed in black, for surely he was the culprit and purveyor of this evil design, but the dark corner and the table he previously occupied was now empty and nowhere did I see him when I looked further around the dining hall. It was almost as if he were a ghost.

"I'll take Holmes to our room. You must advise your superiors of the situation, you must, you simply must give up the document," said I, earnestly.

Elizabeth gave no reply and sat in her seat, gazing away into the middle distance.

"Madame Hervé?" She flinched. "Did you hear me?"

"Is this all my fault? Bringing you here. I feel responsible, my childish ways have led us here."

"There is no time for reflection Elizabeth, no time for guilt, we must act. And for the record, there is only one person responsible here. The man who threatens us and Holmes's life. Go, go to your ambassadors and tell them the situation. We have the perfect foil.

"We do?"

"Yes, the two dummy documents. We'll exchange one of them for the antidote."

Her eyes brightened with the slightest hope and she hurried away, leaving myself and Holmes.

My friend was growing increasingly delirious and unwell, to such a point where he couldn't form a coherent sentence and I had much trouble carrying him through the ship and its swaying corridors. Quite the storm had begun and the decks were lashed with rain and wind, the ship rose and sunk in the waves making it difficult to navigate the interior corridors and the outer decking, the route to our cabin was quite complex and I had to remain keen in order to remember. When I finally reached our rcabin, I laid Holmes down on the bunk and tried to ascertain any clue as to the nature of the poison, any taste or smell that was distinctive. But Holmes was dead to the world and could only respond with moans and whimpers that troubled my soul and I feared for his life and his great mind, for some poisons even when cured do leave the most long lasting marks on the physical and mental faculties of their victims. I have witnessed madness and the dulling of the senses in previous patients and in my schooling. If I only I could ascertain what the poison was, it might lessen my worry.

Thirty minutes later a delicate knock came upon our door. Upon answering it I was faced with Elizabeth and a very grave expression.

"Did you get the document?" asked I, already knowing the answer.

"They don't, they will not negotiate with blackmailers and they are steadfastly unwilling to even give up one of the dummy documents, they say even the slightest hint of proof could put the state of Europe and America at risk."

"But surely you pleaded, the life of one of the greatest minds of our generation is at stake."

"Not to mention the fact that he is my brother!" said she, curtly. "I pleaded my case with the most profound emotion. "These people, they're ruthless. I deal with them on a daily basis. It's horrible, they're brutes, ignorant pigs with a stiff sense of honour to the stupidest, most ridiculous notions of tradition and 'high birth', and nationality, which is a stupid political abstract that is MEANINGLESS! MEANINGLESS!" she shouted, charging up and down the room in a fit of frustration. I was quite taken aback at her emotion, expecting her to be like Holmes, rational and calm.

"What are we to do?"

"Well, there is a criminal blackmailer aboard the ship. Damn it, why didn't I... I forgot to present that to them? I must calm myself. A drink." She reached for the bottle of cognac and immediately realised. She paused, examining the bottle then turned to me. "Can you not examine the contents, perhaps do some chemical separation. Discover the specific poison?"

"I am positively ill equipped."

She huffed and tossed the bottle aside. I attended to Holmes who had calmed a little in his illness only making the faintest of murmurs and groans. I dabbed his forehead with a wet flannel while Elizabeth paced the room in thought.

"Is there something we can give him that looks vaguely similar to the document? Perhaps we can fool him for just enough time to seize the antidote." She stopped in her tracks and locked her eyes upon the wall near the door. I followed her gaze and saw, pinned there, a document. The safety and emergency instructions in case of fire and other such catastrophes that might befall the ship.

"That looks nothing like a legal document and it's far too short," said I.

"It doesn't have to look exactly like the document, just like it enough to fool him. Do you have a weapon?" asked she. I nodded and indicated the revolver holstered at my waist, I make sure to bring it whenever involved in a case with Holmes.

"How do you suppose we delay him enough so that we'll have the antidote in our possession?"

Elizabeth didn't answer at first as she was engaged in detaching the safety instruction document from the wall, after she had done so she rolled it up as if it were a scroll, she then grabbed the cognac bottle and poured its poisoned contents out of the cabin window. Holmes murmured again in his delirium, his fever was increasing. Elizabeth paused reflectively looking out at the night and the turbulent rain storm. "The perfect cover," she said, and slid the rolled up document inside the empty cognac bottle. "This design depends largely on whether he accepts our terms, but I think, on first impression, it sounds reasonable and fair.

"Well?" said I, becoming increasingly impatient to know her design.

"A diamond exchange scenario."

"Pardon? We have no diamonds and the man didn't state that he wanted financial restitution."

"I am referring to the lay out of the exchange. Instead of a head to head exchange, whereby one of the parties has to concede, and be the first to hand over, one marks an X at either side, supposing the two parties face each other. At the same time the two parties proceed to the X marked on the ground and place the item there. We place the document on the X marked to the right and he will place the antidote on the X marked to the left. The two parties then return to their original positions. Then proceed to collect, we go to the X marked to the left and get the antidote, he to the X marked to the right, where he will collect the document. There will then be enough distance between us and enough time for us to make a get away and give Sherlock the antidote, before he can open the bottle and check if the document is real." I looked at her dubiously, unsure as to whether this plan could be executed, it seemed perfectly reasonable but there was an element of doubt, of unseen variables. "And what if something goes wrong?"

"Have your revolver at the ready. Shall we."

"Now?"

"Yes, now, we don't have long." said she, looking pointedly toward the suffering Holmes. "One of the greatest minds of our generation is at stake, as you so loftily put it earlier."

The outer decks of the ship were completely devoid of people, the storm and the rain and wind had seen to that, myself and Elizabeth struggled against the elements gripping the rails, being tossed and battered by the wind, I could barely see ahead of me. Elizabeth clung to my coat tails and on a couple of occasions stumbled upon the slippery surface created by the rain. Finally we came topside toward the bow of the ship. The man in black loomed still against the rails, he was unmoving, seemingly unaffected by wind or rain, like a spectre of some sort. We approached him as best we could, the storm was unrelenting and the rain beat hard against us. The noise and chaos that surrounded us would surely put a dampener on Elizabeth explaining the details of her diamond exchange design.

"Do you have the antidote?" I screamed over the wind. Methodically he slipped a blue vial from his pocket and held it aloft between forefinger and thumb.

"And you have the loan document?" this mysterious man shouted in reply. I looked to Elizabeth and she presented the bottle, the document contained within. A loud crack of thunder boomed overhead and the noise of the wind and rain made negotiation and explanation impossible. There was no time to formulate a new plan. The hooded man stepped forward toward Elizabeth. With little choice she presented the bottle. I held my hand at my hip, ready to unsheathe my revolver if the need arose.

"Sir, might we find more appropriate ground to conduct this business?" said I, as Elizabeth was about to hand over the bottle. The man turned his look toward me, still I could not ascertain his features, so hidden as they were in the shadow of his hood. In the quickest time he snatched the bottle from Elizabeth's hand. Then to my horror he presented the vial precariously between his forefinger and thumb again. My lungs froze and my stomach sank in fear, for surely a stray gust of wind would carry the vial away and Holmes's fate with it. Elizabeth lunged to grab the glass container but before she could, the man let it go, as if it were as insignificant as a picked weed, tossed aside. The glass shattered on impact with the decking and its contents washed away with the rain. The man turned, bottle in hand and ran, leaving myself and Elizabeth stunned.

Another crack of thunder filled the air, but not from overhead and all around, the noise was altogether more concentrated and localised. Just as the man was leaping over the rail behind him in order to make his getaway, he collapsed, letting out a scream of pain as he did. Myself and Elizabeth approached in confusion and peered down at the man as he writhed on the floor, he clutched at his upper thigh where it was pouring blood. Beside myself and it being my chosen vocation, I checked the wound, it was most definitely a gunshot wound.

"He's been shot!" said I to Elizabeth. We both glanced behind us and saw another man approach out of the darkness.

"SHERLOCK!" Elizabeth cried. She threw her arms around him overwhelmed with relief. Holmes bore the close and familiar contact, something he was most uncomfortable with. I too was most relived. I then turned my attentions to the hooded man. His hood had come loose, revealing his identity.

"Essen?" The hotel porter we had previously encountered.

"He goes by another more familiar name," said Holmes. "Arsene Lupin."

"The master thief?"

"Indeed."

"But how did you know and how is it you are cured of the poison?"

"Because I didn't drink enough of it, Watson. Let's get out of this storm and I'll explain further."

I lifted Arsene Lupin to his feet, he offered no resistance as I was expecting and I concluded that the pain of the gunshot wound hindered his will. We went below decks and handed Lupin over to the authorities, whereupon Elizabeth explained what had happened. After I extracted the bullet, treated and bandaged the wound (with minimal medical supplies) Lupin was confined to a cabin for the rest of the trip.

The following morning, Holmes explained how he came to his conclusions over breakfast.

"There were four points that led me to the conclusion of his plan. First in the hotel, and Essen's keen interest in art. You do remember our first encounter with him of course and the unfortunate death of the Marquis. Over the past few months since that adventure I had noticed that the paintings he had stolen were being periodically and anonymously donated to galleries all around Europe. And one such painting was hung in the hotel.

Secondly, your encounter with him on the upper decks upon our boarding of the ship. It seemed very unusual for a mere hotel porter in La Harve to have distinct knowledge of our cases together, especially since you have changed the names of the major players."

"He was focused on the particular story of the master thief."

"His own story no less," said Holmes. "This combined thirdly with the unusual taste of the cognac left in our cabin, after tasting it, I also noticed the bottle, particularly the cork, had been tampered with, a fine needle hole ran through the centre of the cork. I did not know the full extent or detail of the plan, but it, of course, involved poisoning me, so I maintained the ruse of having drunk it until the plan became apparent. And it did, with the note sent to Elizabeth. The signature 'A.L.' confirmed for me that it was Lupin."

"But you didn't have opportunity to read the note, did you, you were ill and delusional?"

"I read it in my cabin, after the note fell from your pocket dear sister and, of course I overheard your conversations with Watson. Your idea concerning the exchange, did amuse me so, for while a reasonable plan in its intent, in your haste, you failed to account for the storm and the volume of noise from wind and rain. My intervention was most needed, if not essential."

"And I for one am glad of it," Elizabeth said with an affectionate smile.

Holmes lit a cigarette and pondered something. "I do wonder as to Lupin's motivations for stealing such a document, there seems to be little financial gain, particularly when the risks are so high. As with the paintings, he did not sell them, but donated them. Perhaps his motivation is political, but his character, what little I can make of it, seems to suggest... well here I draw a blank. Did you question him while treating his wound?"

"Sorry. I didn't think to do so," said I.

"And did he express any reasons voluntarily?"

"The man said nothing."

"He was hired by a third party," Elizabeth said after a long pause.

"Whom?"

"He refuses to name him. Unless we give him pardon. Which, of course, our political authorities refuse flatly, they have no interest in dealing with criminals and are merely happy to have the document safe and secure, as well as the economic fate of America."

"Well that remains to be seen." said Holmes.


End file.
